Weather
England loves America's weather. He always has.
There's just something so delectable about those clear blue skies that he rarely sees in his own country, that same shade of blue that matches America's eyes.
The sun is always so warm and welcoming here, almost closer somehow, and seemingly always shining. Even in the dead of winter England can feel it warming his skin. England doesn't even think the term "dead of winter" applies here in America, it's always so mild when he visits, no matter how much America may go on and on about all the blizzards and hurricanes he's had to endure over his few centuries of life.
The few times it's rained during his visits it's been the warm, summery sort.
Well, unless you counted that one time during the Revolution (which he didn't, goddammit, he wasn't going to dwell on that memory any more than he absolutely needed to.)
---
America's always had a thing for rain.
Sunny days are awesome and all, but there's something so peaceful about rain. He especially loves sitting inside, all warm and cozy, while rain patters on the roof, watching it splatter the windows. On these occasions he likes pitting one raindrop against another, to see which reaches the bottom of the pane first.
He even enjoys being out and about in wet weather, whether he has an umbrella or not. Even driving in the rain is fun, as oftentimes doing so is considered dangerous, and danger to America always equated to excitement.
His few visits to London have been disappointingly sunny thus far, though he hopes to remedy this with his upcoming visit.
---
Author's Note: Short intro to the drabble series, I know. Gotta love the drabble-y goodness!